


Animalia

by lena1987



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animagus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Het, Severus Snape Fest 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lena1987/pseuds/lena1987
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Snape loses a bet. Reluctantly, he takes on the task of teaching Professor Granger to become an Animagus, but finds the process far more pleasurable than he could have ever possibly imagined. A tale of love and physicality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Animalia

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the wonderful Banglabou for being the beta for this story.

**Animalia**  
.  
.

“Do you yield?”

“Against my will!”

“Pish. You shouldn’t have bet against me, then.”

“You should have named the price!”

“ _You_ didn’t name _yours_ , so don’t get all high and mighty on me, young man!”

Severus blew out a noisy breath and flopped into the chair on the other side of the Headmistress’ desk. Of all the things that he could have agreed to…

“You have… taken advantage of me!” he exclaimed, already groaning as he sensed the defeat, and he added on emphatically, “The both of you!”

“Bollocks.” Minerva tossed back the last of her whiskey and shook her head. “You lost. You start on Friday evening.”

.  
.

Severus approached the Room of Requirement with an unfamiliar sense of trepidation. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to share his knowledge – all right, he was _somewhat_ reluctant – but the secretive setting was not helping his suspicion that the woman on the other side of the door had made a pawn out of him. And what a pawn he would be! 

The process of learning to become an Animagus was nigh on exhaustive; forcing one’s body, even with the assistance of magic, to change to an entirely different _species_ took effort, time and patience. His own experience had been filled with mistakes that he had no intention of divulging, and only after the development of a spell that he was particularly proud had he managed to change his form successfully.

He had never taught anyone else; not a student, not an associate and most certainly not a woman twenty years his junior who was lovely at the worst of times, and beautiful at the best. Already his palms were damp, and the bank of insults to mask those palms was accumulating to a point of overflowing. If she used his spell in front of him…

No. He would not think on it. 

After walking past the door and thinking about the reasons he needed it, it appeared and Severus curled his fingers around the handle before throwing it open to a very startled looking Hermione Granger. 

“Professor Granger,” he said stiffly, closing the door behind him with a formal nod. She stood on the other side of the room, her hands held together in front of her body. With her hesitant smile and unassuming stance, one could be forgiven for thinking that she was still the awkward bookworm she’d been during her student years, and for the first years of her teaching career as well. 

It’d been painful to watch her navigate her new role; bossing two teenage boys around was nothing compared to managing a raucous class of twenty at a bare minimum. He hadn’t spared any pity for her – not when she ran herself thin trying to be every student’s friend. Perhaps understandably, she had not come to him for any advice, though he did happen upon her one afternoon in the staff room as she stared dejectedly out of one of the larger windows. Severus had watched her for a moment, knowing all too well how it felt to be the youngest teacher of the group, and when she’d turned and found him there, her mouth had parted in a becoming, soft little gasp. Unsure of what on earth he was doing but finding himself doing it anyway, he strode towards her and stopped mere inches from her body. 

Lowering his voice and linking his hands behind his back, he’d bent closer to her ear to purr, “Give them hell, Madam Weasley,” before sweeping out of the room.

Low and behold, within the next six months, not only was she as commanding as Minerva herself, but she had kicked the unsuited man that was her husband to the proverbial kerb.

It was an apt assessment to say that Professor Granger was certainly not the slip of a girl that she had been. Divorce became her. While he had never again sought her out in particular after that moment in the staff room, his eyes had followed her as she walked with her head held high, her fleshier, enticing curves enveloped now in robes that hinted at her figure, not betrayed it. The mane of hair that had become strangely endearing to him had been chopped off, and now wisps of curls framed her pixie-like face, coming to rest just above her shoulders. Before, he had often experienced a decidedly _odd_ sensation of wishing to wind one of her long, haphazard curls around his wrist; now, his teeth often itched to sink into the newly revealed smooth-as-pearl skin that was the column of her neck. 

Unnerving, indeed. 

Severus found himself faced with a conundrum; not only did he found her beautiful, but with every hint of a smile that was sent his way, he gravitated toward her even more. She was his match in all but age, though of course her beauty ran laps around the dusting of grey hairs that he liked to think softened his appearance somewhat. And at fifty five, he was still as awkward around the opposite sex as if he were a teenager; his hands could map a woman’s body confidently, to be sure, and he ached to put himself to the test with the canvas that were her smooth, round curves, but the art of wooing a woman was utterly lost on him. And he _wanted_ to woo her – he wanted her for his own, to claim her, to _be_ claimed. 

Hopeless – it was absolutely hopeless. Severus Snape did not receive such things, and he should have nipped it in the bud long ago. 

Simply put, he was a love-struck ruddy fool. 

Hermione looked up and grinned. She wore some interesting looking Muggle pants that were more stockings than trousers and it was a Herculean struggle to tear his gaze away. It was almost his undoing when he saw that the top of her was only covered by a thin black t-shirt that must have quite literally been through wars. 

She tilted her head to the side and cleared her throat, piercing him with her stare. “Oh. I thought that with all of the fuss you made, you’d come dipped in gold and on a little platter ready for my… perusal.” 

Good grief. She was in fine form already. Severus shrugged his shoulders and scowled, ignoring the way her eyes gleamed with what seemed suspiciously like wickedness. “You are here to learn, Professor Granger. If you are intending on wasting my time…“

The witch had the nerve to roll her eyes, and she spread her hands out with an innocent smile before saying, “Not at all! I’m glad that you’ve offered –“

“I was forced!” he cut in.

She steamrolled on, “I’m _glad that you offered_ to assist me! I’ve always wanted to master this, and unfortunately Minerva does not have the time for me. Well, she did try but-“

“Wait.” He held up a hand. “This is news to me. Minerva already _tried_?”

Hermione features crumbled into a shame-faced expression, a look Severus decided suited her very much with her wide doe eyes and flushed cheeks. “I have, ah, attempted this on numerous occasions.”

“Bloody hell.” _You’re in the shit, lad._

“I need help, all right!” She huffed and crossed her arms. He looked down at the floor while pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Why have you persisted? This is a very advanced form of magic.”

She grumbled an unintelligible answer, and scuffed one of her –

“Professor Granger, _where_ are your _shoes?_ ”

Christ – her feet were dainty, so pink and clean that he caught his knees just before they bent to take him close enough to suck a toe into his mouth. With eyes fit to bust, he opted instead to groan and in another smooth movement, his hand covered his eyes. 

“I thought it would be easier,” she defended herself, cheeks tinged red. “Minerva kept saying that I’m just too uptight for this sort of thing –”

“Pot, kettle,” he drawled. 

“Would you stop interrupting me? I could say the same about you, after all!”

His answer came in the form of a growled, “In _deed_.”

Granger held up her hands in a show of acquiescence before she waved them over to a set of chairs that appeared before the fire. He followed her, eyes locked firmly on the back of her head to avoid even the possibility of looking lower. She sat primly on the edge of one of the chairs, while he folded his body down comfortably, smoothing the rich fabric of his frock coat over his knees. After crossing his legs, he tilted his head in an unspoken gesture. 

She looked at him in a beseeching, pleading way that would have made better men feel guilty, but instead only enflamed the desire that he held for her, the longing, the want that was not helped by her proximity. 

“I’m sorry,” she said flatly. “I know you’ve got a lot going on –”

“Not really,” he admitted, and though her eyes flashed at the millionth disruption, she gave a short laugh and ducked her head. 

“– but I want to learn. It’s… important.”

With a thumb stroking his chin, he leaned forward in the chair. “Why?”

Like frost seeping in to the room, her welcoming, hesitant expression morphed into something that seemed foreign on her face. As closed off as the locked door to their very room, she scowled down at her lap.

In an attempt to head off any morose conversation, he said stiffly, “Your reason may be providing the conflict between your magic and the spell.” When she perked up slightly, he continued with a careful, “You need not tell me what it is, but the intention for magic such as this is vitally important. You must _become_ the spell, so to speak. It is not like Transfiguration, nor is it anything to do with your equations. The intuition required is not unlike that which is needed for those skilled with defensive magic, and perhaps Potion makers. You are a…” he paused and cleared his throat, unsure in the face of her now riveted attention. Automatically, he slipped into the lower, quieter tone he preferred to use for lectures. “You are still quite a methodical, analytical witch – not necessarily a bad thing, but you lack the flexibility required to really bend your mind in order to change your form. I trust that Minerva has touched on this already?”

“In a way,” she mumbled, “but perhaps not so astutely.”

“Ah.” Severus’ fingers locked into a steeple under his chin. In truth, he was almost enjoying himself – he would have offered to help long ago if she had but approached him directly. As it was… “And so you thought it suitable to let Minerva take on my bet about a simple Quidditch match? I was hankering for rooms on a higher floor, I’ll have you know. This better be worth it.”

Her head snapped up, and the firelight glinted off her chestnut hair, casting it in a golden light that prompted him to swallow and look away. 

“You’re saying yes!” she exclaimed, her hands coming together in a few joyous little claps. “Truly? You’ll teach me?”

Needing to save face somehow, Severus muttered, “I keep my promises, Granger. I am not without honour.”

“No, no, of course not!” Hermione agreed enthusiastically, nodding her head. “When shall we start? Oh, this is simply fantastic!”

Bemused, his mouth twitched at the corner. “I was under the impression that we would begin _now_.”

She jumped up and grinned. “Absolutely! I can’t thank you enough, Pr- hmm. Can we do away with formalities? Call me Hermione.”

“Very well.” He nodded slowly, his composed expression barely even hinting at the way his heart was thrumming. Like a hummingbird’s wings, it had taken flight at using her first name – there really had been next to no interaction between the Arithmancy Mistress and the Professor of DADA, and so he spoke without thinking, instinctively savouring the twists and turns of a name that he had always found enchanting. “Hermione.”

He had intended to return the invitation, but he found that any attempt at suave, composed behaviour was lost when her mouth formed an ‘o’ before she bit her lip. “Yes,” she said breathlessly, though he had no idea at all what on earth she was referring to.

He stood quickly, jerking his chin towards the centre of the room. “Let us begin.”  
.  
.

“Do you have any particular affinity with an animal?”

Hermione looked thoughtful as they stood together in the middle of the room, a few feet of space between their bodies. 

“No… I don’t believe so.”

He narrowed his eyes and examined her body. Arching an eyebrow when her cheeks coloured as he walked around her, overtly inspecting the lines of her legs and back in particular, he snickered. 

“This is no time for modesty, Pro- _Hermione_. Sometimes a person’s body can hint at the animal they will become. You may have noticed that Minerva has the rather unfortunate addition of –”

“Whiskers?”

Severus smirked and looked up at her from where he’d been studying her feet. He could easily admit that he was taking too long, but would he ever have such a chance again? Not bloody likely.

She had turned her head to the side, just enough to follow the line of his gaze. The temperature in the room seemed to increase until he began to feel uncomfortably warm in his attire and he was almost tempted to remove it and work in his shirt sleeves until he remembered the sentient castle. Bloody meddling old thing. He rubbed the back of his neck and reached into a hidden pocket to source a tie to pull his hair back. 

“Impertinent woman,” he muttered, rolling his eyes when hers widened as he hooked the thin strands of black hair around his wrist, twisting it then looping it through the tie. “What?”

“I’ve never seen you with your hair back before,” she mumbled, chastened. She returned her gaze to the wall so her face was again straight ahead. Crouched behind her as he was, he shrugged. He knew it didn’t exactly complement his harsh, almost Roman features but – 

“It looks nice.”

He hummed noncommittally, thrown off his guard. Eventually he managed a faint, “Yes, well. Right.” A low muttered oath followed, and then he added, “What’s your Patronus?”

The soft body of the witch above him froze. He watched with interest as her fists clenched and her toes curled, as if the question required some supreme effort. Ignoring how his knees popped when he stood, his eyes followed the bright pink blush that coloured her fair skin, and he linked his fingers together to avoid reaching out to touch the supple smoothness where the flush disappeared beneath the singlet. Lost in thought, he began to wonder how far the blush would reach – if he lifted the singlet, would he find it beginning to spread down and over her buttocks? And if he stroked a daring hand around to her front, pinching just softly on the curve of her belly before sliding his fingers past the band of her underwear and through the chestnut coloured curls to reach what lay nestled beneath – would the skin there, so smooth and wet… Would she be hot there, too?

Severus immediately shook his head, amazed that Hermione had not moved an inch during his mental explorations. Whatever instinct his question had provoked, it made her stay still enough to hope he wouldn’t pry any further. He filed it away for later use, infinitely curious, but controlled his tongue enough to merely say, “I believe I remember that it was an otter during your school days. These things change. That will make it easier, at least.”

“Oh?” She seemed to latch onto the last part of his tiny speech, clutching at it like a life line. Her shoulders were rising and falling rapidly, as if she were guarding a hidden secret. Severus _burned_ to turn her around and whisper the spell that would have him discovering what she was so desperate to conceal, but he knew with certainty that it would destroy any chance he might ever have with her. 

But he would find out. Oh, yes – yes, he would. By whatever means necessary.

“Yes,” he said silkily. “At least we do not have to concern ourselves with doing this down by the lake.”

“Oh, of course,” Hermione said quickly. Her inevitable question came next; he’d been expecting it. “So… you don’t need water, then? For your own… transformation?”

He walked around her, maintaining the polite space between them until he was in front of her. Her cheeks were blazing red, but her chin was high and she faced him with a determination that inspired a strange, flipping feeling in his stomach. The true question was what his actual form was, but he felt reticent to reveal such a personal thing… He was protective of his skin under normal circumstances, but revealing this other side of his soul (because it was his soul – how else would he have become such an animal if he had not already had a kinship with the slinking beast?) was something he would only confess if she… if they… 

“No,” he replied quietly. “I do not require water.” 

She stepped closer and he swallowed, his throat dry. Her eyes flicked down to the bob of his Adam’s apple then met his black gaze again. 

“I think that you would be very beautiful,” she whispered, tilting her head to keep the visual connection as she took another step forward. He towered over her, the right height to use his strength for any manner of wicked things that all related to devouring her. He was suddenly parched, and they both flinched when a sweating glass of ice cold water appeared hovering beside his mouth. 

“Are you thirsty, Severus?” 

If a witch could purr, then Hermione Granger would fit the bill perfectly. Keeping eye contact, he allowed himself one hint of a wolfish grin as he raised the cup to his lips and drank slowly, exhaling softly when he finished the glass. 

“Quite.” The glass disappeared, and with it the enveloping sexual tension as she nodded, her sly, satisfied smile spreading as if she had uncovered something feminine, something deliciously naughty. He could not play this game – he would fail miserably, as already his feelings were merging with lust until he wanted not just to fuck her into the wall but to marry her, to put his ring on her finger, to tell the world that this undeniably brilliant witch was _his_. 

And he longed to be hers. 

Thankfully, she stepped away and the spell that she had him under ended. Severus blinked, and extended an arm to the mats that the room had provided on the floor.

“Show me. You know the theory, I trust?”

“I do.” 

He backed away and sat back into one of the chairs. “Then begin – and Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

Leaning his elbows on his knees, he said simply, “If you have a bond of some sort with your Patronus, if it is inspired by someone that you… love, then see yourself as that animal. Perhaps it will prove easier.”

“Right.” Hermione tossed her head, sending her curls dancing around her face and he almost grinned, enchanted by the sight of the brown silken strands bobbing in the air. She breathed in deeply then let it out before rolling her shoulders, her breasts pushing up and out with the movement. Without a wand and without a sound, she began. 

.  
.

The second week was not much different than the first. He met her in the Room of Requirement on a Friday evening, his features carefully schooled, but once again her direct manner and sensual speech had him hook, line and sinker. 

They made some progress – her shining brown hair became sleek and black, straight instead of the usual knotted curls. Her eye colour remained, giving him no clues as to what her form might eventually become, yet they slanted. He suspected that whatever animal Hermione would be, it would be feline in nature. 

Or was that just because he was beginning to sense a bond growing between them? Not just one of camaraderie, of enjoyable banter and light sexual tension, but _desire_ , too. Stifling desire, where each time she attempted to make the change, he would stare at her elongated legs, her black hair and newly high cheekbones, and lick his lips, ensnared by the fierce need to _have_ her. It was almost animalistic in its foreignness; out of everything that he’d been prepared for, all of the things that he’d conjured up in his mind to aid his normally impeccable control, needing her on such a basic, carnal level was close to shocking. 

Oh, he knew what it was to want her – to wish for slick heat surrounding him, walls clenching and moans into his waiting mouth, but this was _need_. Pure, unadulterated need. Visions flashed before his eyes, visions that were dangerous and mouth-watering at the same time – scenes of licking her from cunt to clit before sinking his teeth into the skin of her inner thigh; silent films of driving into her from behind in the shower, her fingers holding onto his waist, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood on his pale skin; still pictures of him flat on his back while she rode him, milking him for all he was worth. 

There was nothing innocent about it, and each time that he met her, he found himself falling further and further into the abyss. It wasn’t helped by how she had coaxed him into having tea with her after each failed lesson. They spoke of many things, and for once, he knew what it was to converse with a woman about not only purely academic subjects. Oh, she was abreast of every current theory, could recite the summaries of almost every new book on the market to do with her field (and, interestingly, his), yet she could command their conversations in a way that he would find himself telling her things that never would have seen the light of day otherwise. 

It only fuelled the fire further. 

It would shock some to know that he could be a tender man; in private of course, and usually after a drink or two, but he certainly wasn’t always the snarky bastard that he enjoyed being to his colleagues. Secretly – oh, so very secretly – he had always wanted to show this side of himself to Granger. To wash and brush her hair, to oil his hands and soothe her tired muscles, even to make her morning tea and bring it to her in bed, if only to hear her low voice murmur sweet nothings to him from under the sheets.

All of these things, he wanted. They were safe – honourable.

And they warred with the almost feral thirst that he had for her. He had to quench it, he had to _take_ her – but he had to hold her, too. To have and to hold.  
.  
.

Mealtimes became difficult. She began to sit beside him at the staff table in the Great Hall, and more than once he felt her thigh brush his, or her fingers caress his as she handed him a plate of this or that. Each movement was so subtle, so sly, that if he hadn’t spent decades spying and analysing every damn second of his day, he would’ve missed them.

Severus was of the mind that she was intending him to miss them, too. Her confidence never once wavered, the way it only would when he would meet her coquettish glances in the Room on Fridays, where she would turn away and bite her lip, her cheeks flushing red. But when she played these games with him in public, she was so sure of herself and of his oblivion that she became more daring. 

In turn, Severus encouraged Hermione. It was as easy as breathing to let her notice him watching her, to time his patrols so they would cross paths in dark corridors. He would slow his steps just enough to make sure that she knew he was running his eyes over her body, and, emboldened one evening, he drew close enough to feel the smooth thin crepe of her robes brushing past his fingers. Her gasp was entirely worth it, and yet... He shouldn’t do such things – surely she would never be prepared for the force of his feelings. She was divorced, after all. Wouldn’t she be sick of simpering men?

Not that he even knew why she’d left Weasley in the first place. There had been no gossip, no scandals. They’d seemed pleasant to each other when he had seen them at functions over the years; he’d almost believed that the lack of spark he had missed had been a mistake on his part. Apparently not. They were still cordial to each other even now, though it was easy to see that they got along better in their new, detached state. 

He was glad for it, of course. He had no wish to set his sights on a married woman – the complications of such things would’ve sent him mad. But he’d heard enough in the staff tea room to assume that women who had left their husbands wouldn’t be looking to jump straight into something that would consume them. 

Because that was what he wanted. He’d finally pinned it down, as he desired to pin her down: he wanted to consume her. 

.  
.

Severus was still intrigued by _why_ Hermione wished to learn how to change her form. It wasn’t uncommon, of course; before it was made known how difficult it was, the majority of witches and wizards fancied a go at some point in their lives. He himself had only done so in response to an unfortunate incident involving a wolf in his schooling years – if anyone was going to try and get their claws into him, he wanted to be on equal ground. 

The skill had only been mastered by the time of the ending of the first war. It had become an obsession, which of course made it all the more complex to achieve. He couldn’t break away from the mindset of wanting to escape – it was only after seeing Minerva transform late one evening after he was returning from his rounds that he found the real passion for it again. He had been twenty one, an age that had seen a shit-storm cross the wizarding world, and it still amazed him that he had lived through it when so many had not. There were some that he truly cared about, though he would not mull on that now. 

It had been such a relief to become the panther – to feel his powerful limbs streaking across the grounds, his teeth sinking into prey. For once _he_ was the victor in his own little world.

The animal suited him greatly; it explained the reasoning behind the catlike grace he had always had (it had been quite the conundrum considering his parentage. Neither mother nor father had been particularly fluid). It didn’t excuse his lank hair, but he decided that he didn’t care – he kept it long in homage to the part of his soul that could escape every now and again, and he took enjoyment from the secret knowledge that no matter what derogatory names the students used, he could morph at any moment and become a beautiful, dangerous creature. 

Hermione would not tell him just why she wanted this, and he wanted to know. He tried looking over her shoulder when he caught her more than once writing on the same piece of parchment, but she had charmed the page to blur from a distance. Asking her again proved a waste of time.

It was annoying and unnerving.

But certainly not as disturbing as the realisation that he came to a few lessons later. 

.  
.

“I just _can’t!”_

Amused, Severus cocked one smug eyebrow as Hermione stomped her foot in the middle of the room. She was particularly enticing in her almost-feline state, though he still did not know if she would be a small, innocent little kitten or something much more resembling his own form. 

There were black ears that sat atop her head, nestled within the shining ink coloured locks. For lack of a better word, she looked… _adorable_. Cute, even. And when on earth had Severus bloody Snape ever applied such a word to a woman such as her? Never. 

Still, she was. He wanted to tuck her up in his bed and watch her sleep, stroke her hair and murmur poetry of old. 

_Fucking hell_. 

He loved her. 

.  
.

It was like he was in heat! He couldn’t decide what he wanted to do with her, apart from that he wanted to do everything. 

He approached her slowly. She had her palms over her face, just like when she had been a little girl in the infirmary. He’d laughed at her then, yes, but now… 

Perhaps he could win her with tenderness. 

Stopping only a hair’s breadth away, he let out a sigh to tell her how close he was. Her body stiffened, but he raised his hands all the same and linked his fingers with hers, stroking down her wrists before pulling gently down. 

“Do not hide from me,” he chided her softly, smiling faintly when he took in the mortified tears swimming in her eyes. “You do not need to… You look…” He gave up. Her eyes were almost completely slanted now, and her brows were jet black, her lashes long. With her curves and animalistic beauty, he could paint her now and preserve her if he had the skill. It was a disappointment to remember that he did not, in fact, know how to do such things. 

“I’m scared that I’ll get stuck like this,” she admitted in a mumble, looking down at her feet. They were thinner and more graceful looking than ever before. 

In a move that was probably more rash than not, Severus held her gaze as he bent down in front of her, bracing his body on one knee as he reached out slowly to touch her toes, pink from her blush. He stroked the top of her foot, letting his long fingers encircle her thin ankles before repeating the journey. Hermione let out a small sound of surprise, but then closed her eyes and parted her lips when his hands began to travel higher towards her thighs. 

They were powerful in this half transformed state, no longer fleshy and smooth, but strong to the touch, to the point where the fair skin under his warm palms felt like marble. Strong enough to propel her body should she crouch; he struggled to remember whether he had ever seen anything more beautiful.

Like a goddess from some other world, the limbs that he stroked were without an equal. Lost in his musings, he found himself murmuring, “Such beauty should not be hidden. Not now; not ever.”

She gasped, the sound overwhelmingly sweet to his ears. He rose, indulging himself for a moment as he let his hands trail away from her body ever so slowly as he dragged them up past her waist and then stepped away. Hermione was as tall as him now, and there was no way to conceal that his breath had quickened and his cheeks had formed a matching flush to hers. 

The look that they shared seemed full of meaning, though he couldn’t quite catch it. But there seemed to be something just under the surface… simmering gently, not at a full boil, but something that hinted that his affections might not be as unwelcome as he had assumed. 

The tiny black ears flicked once or twice, and his attention was diverted. He grinned, a quick and impish expression, and touched the tip of one with his index finger. 

“So soft,” he remarked, tilting his head to examine them further. “And delicate.”

“They don’t feel delicate,” she replied. Even her voice was different – lower, breathier, far different to her usual sharp, bell like tones. “I can hear… _everything_.”

“Yes,” he agreed simply. Oh, he knew all about _that_. “And your… sense of smell?” 

She gave a dainty little sniff, and Severus wondered just what word the intelligent witch would use to describe how it felt to _taste_ the scents in the air. 

Her black thin brows were furrowed in thought until she said slowly, “All encompassing.”

Severus bit his tongue to stave off his eagerness to instruct her on just how _all-encompassing_ her senses could now be, but there would be time for that. Possibly.

He reversed the spell with a flick of his wand and she was back to her usual self. “I would like to try something,” he said carefully, well aware that she could refuse him. But it was irresistible – he _had_ to know what she was.

“Oh?” Hermione fixed him with a questioning stare.

Severus nodded and walked around her again before resolutely stalking over to the side of the room and waving a hand, the silent spell causing the buttons of his frock coat to fall open. With his back to the witch, he set his shoulders and gave in to the warmth in the room, taking the coat off to reveal the wine red shirt underneath. Taking his time in order to prolong seeing her reaction to him (for he was not such a dim-witted fool that he wouldn’t be able to tell whether or not his body repulsed her or excited her), he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows then turned around in a slow curve.

The effect was instantaneous. Whiskey coloured eyes brazenly memorised the newly revealed slender planes of his torso, and her cheeks flushed. Entranced, he mapped the way she licked her lips then swallowed, desire written all over her face. It pulsed within her, and he walked toward her, hands in his pockets. His dragon hide boots made no sound on the stone floor.

“What would you…” Her words halted as he came to a halt, ensuring that there was only a sliver of space between them. 

A slow smirk spread over his lips, widening into a grin when a quick flick of his eyes down to her chest revealed the buds of her breasts tightening, inviting him. One bend of his legs would have his mouth level with them, and even through her thin cotton shirt he could close his lips around one, lave it with his tongue to have her finally shedding whatever inhibitions were keeping her from acting on her desires. 

An instinct rose, and he gave into it effortlessly. He strolled around her, stopping when he stood directly behind her body. Her shoulders rose and fell with heavier breaths, and he had to wet his own lips, needing the moisture to wrangle some sense of courage for what he was about to do.

Never had he shown his hand so obviously, but the time for timidity had passed long ago. She wanted him. 

She had _come_ to him. Hermione had risked his acerbic tongue to have him instruct her; she hardly could have known how attractive he had already found her. He was sure that such suspicions would only have begun after the first lesson. 

She had made the first move – he _owed_ it to her to give in. 

One extra step brought him flush against her, or he was after she let out a breath and pressed back against his body. Light-headed from intoxicating desire, Severus bent his head, taking in the scent of her hair, her skin. He did not raise his hands to touch her, but simply kept their bodies together; he needed just one more hint of acceptance before he fully revealed himself to her. 

It came in a whisper so low that he rested his chin on her shoulder to hear it.

“Severus?” she said, turning her head to the side just enough for him to feel the softness of her cheek with his lips. 

The tables turned quickly. 

No longer content with merely standing, Hermione arched her back and ground into his erection, a tiny breathless moan that called him out to play. It was almost unbelievable – like she had dived out of his wildest dreams, his most hidden fantasies. Severus let out a groan – of torture, of self-restraint – and buried his face in her hair, his fingers reaching to her hips to pin her in place as he pushed into the curve that would’ve swallowed his cock had he been unclothed. 

If he jerked her around and kissed her, crushed his mouth to hers like he wanted to, it would have been over and all of her hard work would have been for naught. 

Still, he was almost painfully hard as he pictured the effect the incantation would have on her body. It was secret, and he had never revealed the words to anyone, only hinting once to Minerva at what he had created. He could only guess that that was why Hermione had ended up with him as a teacher, but he was not about to turn down the chance to have her be the first to trial it other than himself. 

And if it worked… If it worked, he would die a happy man. He would never see anything more erotic than what he would see during their next session. 

“Hermione…” he purred into her ear, letting his fingers splay possessively over her stomach. She tilted her head back further in response, exposing that neck that begged to be bitten. 

Instead he placed one long, open mouthed kiss to the skin, sating himself for the time being by letting his tongue taste the tang of the perfume oil that’d been so teasingly dabbed there. She moaned, her arms coming up to snake around his neck, anchoring him at her flesh.

It was nothing short of bliss. He grinned and pushed against her backside once more before he lowered his voice, intentionally pitching it to be like a river of silk.

“Hermione,” he said, licking her neck again before blowing gently on the spot. In a tender gesture he brushed a stray curl away from her forehead, and then whispered wickedly, “I’ve a spell I’d like to try.  
.  
.

A week later, Severus entered the Room of Requirement and stopped short, his mouth open wide in an ‘o’ that was more than likely quite unflattering. 

“What on earth…?” 

“Sorry.” Hermione flushed a deep red. “It seems that the Room responded to _all_ of my… ah… wishes, instead of the overtly declared ones.”

He looked around with a low chuckle, noting the four poster bed with opulent cream coloured coverings, along with the plush Persian rug under his feet. “This is…” he tried, but couldn’t quite summon words. It was truly lovely – they had been dancing around each other for days since he’d confessed about his little spell and _here_ was the visual confirmation that she really _truly_ desired him. It was a heady feeling, like sweet and light lilac wine. 

Hermione wore her comfortable clothing, the same as usual, and she smiled from her spot near one of the bed posts.

“This is actually a replica of my… my own bedroom.”

“Is it now?”

How he ached to do away with the whole lesson and have her now! It would be such a simple thing – all he’d need do would be to wrap his arms around her and tilt back just so until her knees hit the bed. She would fall onto it with a little gurgle of laughter, her head tilted to the side, welcoming him to kiss and suck the delicate neck that he’d had his mouth on just a week before although it could have been an _age_ for how much he had missed her…

Gods.

“It is,” she confirmed, shyly looking up at him. “Shall we… shall we start? I’m ever so curious.”

“As am I,” he replied, his voice lower as he stole a quick glance as her eyes that were shining with… what? Happiness? He stepped closer, examining her face. “You look...” He couldn’t complete it. There was something in all of this that had done away with his words, chased them out of him in favour of saving his breath to use it in devouring this goddess instead of only speaking.

“Do I look happy?” she asked, reaching up with one small palm to cup his cheek. Severus leaned into her touch with a sigh of contentment.

“You do. Which seems impossible. Are you happy because of – because of me?”

“Oh, Severus,” she scolded him gently, pursing her lips for a short second then licking them teasingly. “You’re rather blind, you know. I’ve been giving you sheep eyes for months.”

He took a breath. “ _Have you_? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes, well, I’m not very good at all of this.”

“Bollocks.” He grinned wolfishly. “Might I see those sheep eyes?”

She looked away and giggled, then turned back to him with wide, open eyes that seemed to pull him into her very soul. He was entranced; he wanted to dive into their whiskey coloured depths and stay there forever, nestled within her warmth.

“Oh… How could I have missed _that_?” he exclaimed, bending his head to see her better. “How could you have _allowed_ me to miss that?”

“I don’t know,” she said shyly, linking her fingers together as she rocked on her feet. “But you’re here now, aren’t you?”

There seemed to be a thousand different questions contained within that simple phrase. He cocked his head and grinned. “Yes, I’m here now.”

Hermione let out a sigh that seemed so full of relief that his mouth began to ache from the wide smile it was stretched into. “Good. That’s settled, then.” She batted her lashes. “Teach me the spell?”

Growling, he let his index finger trail along the curve of her throat, settling it in the dip between her collarbones. He was so close that he could see the tiny veins on her paper thin eyelids when she closed them with a soft little purr. “Yes, minx,” he named her. “I shall teach you the spell.”

Severus stepped away, revelling in her little pout of disappointment. “Later?” he questioned daringly, laying bare his intentions for the rest of the evening.

She bit her lip and nodded. “Later.”

.  
.

Ignoring her jibes about foolish wand waving, Severus flicked his wrist then moved in a smooth arch as he uttered the incantation. His spell would force her to change, yet it would slow it down until each limb, each vessel, understood where it needed to go. It happened gradually, giving the witch or wizard ample time to become truly aware of just what they were going to change into, which in turn allowed their own magic to assist. In the wrong hands, his spell may have caused damage, but he was nothing if not careful.

It required complete concentration and a general idea of the form that the potential Animagi would take. Thankful that he had already seen enough clues, he focused on a basic feline form and gestured with his other hand for Hermione to join him in actually beginning the transformation.

The effect was immediate.

She could not speak – not in the throes of the spell – but she looked at him in awe as his spell slowed down the transformation. It was as if she was in slow motion, and he beamed triumphantly as the change began.

She was absolutely beautiful.

Her thin burrows furrowed in studious single-mindedness, Hermione gasped silently when her nails extended until they were claws. Severus held his breath, unaware that he’d brought up a hand to cover his heart in an automatic gesture of anticipation. In a squeal that made no sound, the younger witch gaped ecstatically when her body slowly stretched until she was taller, leaner. He knew from experience that slowing it down meant that it didn’t even hurt; there were simply sensations to feel, not pain.

And this was the best part.

He licked his lips when her clothing vanished, sent to a neat pile beside her on the floor in an aspect of the spell that he was particularly proud of. She blushed immediately but in his trance, he dropped to his knees in shock at the loveliness that was her flesh, so smooth and soft, like pearls and-

Fur! Small hairs began to cover her belly, her arms, her heavy looking breasts. Alarmed, Hermione looked at him but he waved an absentminded hand – “Normal,” he said loudly, countering the blood that would have been roaring in her ears. “It’s all normal. And you’re _beautiful_.”

She turned with a gleeful smile, giving him a more than pleasant view of the dip of her back, her rounded buttocks and thighs that were now looking as though they were painted with gold. It was incredibly erotic; he knew without a doubt that the image would be burned into his mind, seared into his consciousness. And perhaps relived in his pensieve as well.

Hermione screamed, then, in the usual response to the panic that was induced by the true change. In an instant, the spell forced her to her knees as she jerked and morphed, legs bending into thin powerful limbs, breasts disappearing (he swallowed his juvenile disappointment), ears changing, eyes slanting, her entire body shrinking and changing, getting closer and closer until-

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Severus breathed as he took in the sight of the woman – _my woman, my woman_ – in her newly minted form.

“Fuck. You are _magnificent_.”

The urge to join her was too strong and he gave in, tossing his head in a natural movement. In the blink of an eye, not one human was left in the room.

.  
.

The lynx yawned, her jaw stretching, exposing powerful, cutting teeth. Her golden eyes flicked warily, examining the black panther with a kind of languid acceptance that would have been out of place had her mind not belonged to a brilliant young witch.

The panther circled her slowly, his paws padding softly. There were baser instincts competing within him, but he suppressed them with practiced ease; the lynx was smaller, and with a soft whine she bowed her head in a gesture of submission. The urge to dominate the wild feline was strong – Severus found her stunning, though he knew that were this a situation where the two animals were not hampered by human minds, the panther would attack the lynx. Hermione would be no more than a meal.

With a throaty growl in greeting, Severus slunk towards the lynx and bumped his nose against her cheek, rumbling with amusement when the movement knocked her over. Hermione squeaked, the high pitched sound of indignation out of place on the usually deadly animal, and she furthered the juxtaposition by rolling onto her stomach and purring before playfully reaching out a paw to swat his face away.

She was unsteady on her legs when he nudged her again, pushing her up. His first reaction was to laugh at her swaying limbs, and the series of ridiculous bark-like whines that issued from his jaws had her rolling around again, this time on her back as she twisted her belly. The expression on the thin, delicate features resembled a smug, ecstatic grin.

_Oh, this simply will not do_ , Severus decided and with a wicked hiss, he launched himself on top of the lynx and let his weight fall onto the smaller cat, easing off just before the wind would have been knocked out of her.

She squirmed and growled, but remained underneath him, her eyes blinking until she finally stilled. His black eyes bore into the golden tints of hers, until with a burning curiosity he offered her as close to a smirk as he could manage and slipped into her mind.

‘ _Nice kitty_ ,’ Severus said darkly, his low voice echoing through their connection. The lynx bucked, startled, then squirmed again and soon enough Hermione’s clear voice reverberated in his consciousness.

_‘This is… amazing! Bloody wonderful!’_

_‘Mmm… it is, isn’t it?’_

_‘Yes, yes,_ yes! _But I… ah…’_ Hermione snapped her teeth. _‘I want out. Tell me how.’_

_‘Out? You’ve had enough?’_ To say he was disappointed was an understatement. _‘Just reverse it – you know the theory. Put it into practice. But I thought…’_ He looked away and began to move off of her, then flinched when her claws dug into his shoulders. _‘Ah! Witch, what are you-‘_

_‘I want out!’_ she hissed. _‘But not… but not... oh, bugger it. I want to be in my own skin, Severus. I want to be underneath you and I want to feel_ all _of you and I want… I want you. I don’t want to wait any longer.’_

Severus reared back in surprise and scrambled up before instantly shifting again. The clothes that his spell had sent to a pile in the corner instantly covered his skin again. The lynx blinked in a feminine, owlish manner before she, too, rose onto her four limbs and regarded the man in front of her.

“Come out, come out, minx,” Severus called, allowing his smile to widen into a grin as he linked his arms behind his back. The feline tossed her head then approached him, butting her head on his knees until he stepped back. “Ah,” he drawled silkily, “the lady wishes for me to turn around?”

Again she let out that foreign squeak and he offered her a low bow before swivelling around. He heard a faint rushing sound, the kind that often came with an awkward and not completely fluid transformation, and then…

The air around him felt stifling. He licked his lips, not content with standing away from her when he knew that she was behind him, utterly naked. There had been no tell-tale rustles of clothing or other coverings and Severus closed his eyes, savouring how easy it was to sense her, to revel in the trust she placed in him by not covering her body. She was close, so very close; when he heard a low exhale of breath to his right, he whipped his head to the side, hoping to catch her lips on his cheek. No touch greeted him; he couldn’t hold back a soft sigh of disappointment.

“I’m nervous,” she whispered, and at the same time her hands reached out and settled on his shoulders. If he inched his body back just a little, he knew he would feel the outline of her curves, the press of her breasts to his back, her belly on his spine.

“Don’t be,” he replied breathlessly. “Please. Don’t be nervous. It’s only me.”

Her lips placed a chaste kiss on his cheek that was still inclined to the side. “Don’t say that. It’s not ‘only’ you.” Another kiss; her fingertips threaded through his hair and his eyes rolled back, the rush of happiness crashing over him in waves. “It _is_ you. You are…You are… It’s you, Severus. You’re who I want.”

“Truly?” He despised the way his voice cracked, but this emotional involvement, the slow drawing out of his love for her, was making him vulnerable. He sucked in a breath and waited for her reply. When it came, it left him speechless.

“I want you so much that it _hurts_ , Severus,” Hermione confessed, lips moving against his cheek. “I always have.”

He moaned and shook his head. “Don’t tell me this – don’t _give_ me this, if you won’t – if I can’t – oh gods _fuck,_ Hermione,” he choked out, reacting to her hands snaking around his waist, making trails downwards until she cupped his straining erection. Another palm wormed its way under his frock coat and past his black leather belt to give a teasing flick on his arse.

“Don’t what, love?” she teased, with a throaty, sexy chuckle that he almost ignored in favour of succumbing to her endearment. “I’ve dreamed of this, Severus; of you. Not just in bed…” She trailed off and both of her hands carefully eased open the lower buttons on his coat before silently working on his buckle. At the same time, she told him of her dreams, of how she would close her eyes at night and see him beside her, of how she ached for him to satisfy her, to be hers, to make her his, to never leave her. It was _too much;_ it was not enough.

“Severus…?”

“Hermione…”

“Won’t you come out to play?”

With a low oath, his knees almost buckled and he brought his hands around to hold onto her waist, jerking her against his back. He didn’t even know where to start. There was so much to dig his fingers into; the smooth flesh of her hips was almost his undoing but he wanted to make this last, he wanted to remember it. This moment would never come again – not the newness of it, the tentativeness. Her fumbling hands, so intent on freeing his erection – “Oh, oh _shite!_ ” he swore when she finally wrapped her fingers around his cock – those hands… she would become sure one day, knowing. He would never have her like this again. Already he mourned the loss of trepidation but it was quickly replaced by a swift mounting of arousal.

Her hands were warm as they stroked him, one circling the head while her fingers searched lower and lower, pressing gently below his sack. He groaned, jutting his hips forward in a gesture of complacency; he was giving in.

She kissed him once more on his cheek, and when the next kiss came, he was ready for her.

It almost pained him to wrench his cock from her grasp, but he did.

Hermione made to kiss his cheek again, a wet kiss that spoke multitudes of sinful promises, and he turned to take it with his mouth. Delighting in her little gasp of pleasure, he pulled her body around in front of him and kissed her again, then again, pressing his lips to hers in quick succession before finally – _finally!_ – slipping his tongue inside her mouth and allowing his hands to begin the journey of touching the beautiful woman in his arms.

 

.  
.

She wanted to extinguish the fire and leave them in darkness.

“Leave it,” he sighed, breaking away from her mouth and kissing his way down her neck. “Please. You are so very beautiful, Hermione, and-“

He bit down gently, sucking and only stopping when she shrieked and batted him away with a giggle, having realised that he was marking her in the primitive way that he’d dreamed of doing. “And…” he continued, “I can’t think straight so my adjectives to describe you will no doubt suffer, just… you’re lovely. Perfect. Please?”

Her shyness wrote novels on its own, and he could have killed whoever made her think that her body wasn’t worthy of Botticelli, to be recorded as an example of beauty for ages to come. It was a bit of an exaggeration – he knew if he looked hard enough, there’d be imperfections just as well as on his own body – but he was a man in love, for goodness’ sake. Sod all the rest of the men who hadn’t knelt at her feet and kissed their way up to her thighs to show her just how stunning she was.

“All right,” she agreed softly; her face was so close now that he could barely work out what she was even thinking, but then her smile filled his vision and he laughed: loudly, happily.

“Thank the gods,” he breathed hotly. “Bed?”

She made him chase her, her breasts bouncing when she feinted to the side, her giggles reaching a crescendo when he managed to wind a curl around his fingers to keep her beside him. “To bed, minx,” he ordered in a dark purr, tossing her over his shoulder and falling with her onto the mattress.

He treasured her laughter, her sighs of contentment as he kissed her again while easing his thigh between hers to guide her legs to part. She let them fall open, baring her sweetness to him and he vowed then to reward her sudden confidence, to have her know that he would never have her become used to perfunctory couplings; he would give her surprises, he would make her skin blush all the way to her breasts and the treasure that lay beneath.

A snap of her fingers removed his clothes and he growled for show as he nipped his way down her body. The skin on skin enflamed him; he was a raw nerve, and every touch of her fingers as her nails scraped down his back increased his desire tenfold.

He licked, suckled and teased her breasts, grinning against her skin when she squirmed and arched, offering the tightened buds. It was heavenly; it was so _obvious_ now just why he had wished for this, why he had ached to taste her nipples, the sensitive undersides that he turned his concentration to next, stroking and kissing until she gasped.

Severus could hardly bear to think about what he was doing – the pleasure of it (of _her_ ) was so intense that he almost saw stars whenever he closed his eyes.

“Oh!” she cried when he finally slithered down the rest of her body, giving her one long, teasing lick.

“Mine,” he mumbled from between her thighs, chuckling when she clenched them together with an accompanying snarl of, “Mine!”

Oh, _this_ – to consume and to be consumed.

He was as close to blissful as he would ever be when he returned her folds, licking and sucking on her clit until she screamed. Still, he stayed, easing off and swirling his tongue closer to her entrance, darting in and out between kisses and delicate little bites to her inner thighs. Watching the expressions flitter across her face was frightening and satisfying – he was learning what it meant to please her, make her unravel under his tongue, his fingers. The unfamiliar way her eyes screwed themselves shut, how her mouth would open and close and her teeth would bite down on her lower lip; he watched all of this on his new lover.

_My new lover… oh, gods…_

Her thighs clenched around him as he returned to her clit, sliding a finger into her warmth, curling it inside of her as he coaxed her to another climax. He could barely breathe but only stopped when she tried to twist away from him, her arms opening as she pulled and tugged at his body-

“Come _in!_ ” she cried urgently, “Oh, _pleasepleaseplease,_ come inside Severus – please, oh gods please-“

It was just where he wanted to be. He groaned when she took him in hand, guiding him towards her until she threw her head back onto the pillows and cried out when he first began to push inside of her.

“Oh – _fuck_ ,” he moaned, overcome with how tight her walls were around him. The heat was almost too much – the pleasure of it all was threatening to send him wild and he’d only just fully sunk into her.

“More, Severus,” she begged, “I know you won’t – I know we won’t – but – but-“

_Yes, yes,_ was all he could come up with; there would be time for-

He reined in his thoughts, grinning wolfishly down at her. He would savour this if it was the last thing he did.

“More?” he echoed, leaving the warmth for just a moment before he plunged back in and hooked her leg around his waist. “More?”

She howled her pleasure into the room; her arms wound around his neck and she pulled him closer. Their kiss was artless but Severus couldn’t even begin to describe the passion contained within it. But he still wanted… He wanted… Oh gods, he wanted everything-

With a muttered spell, her pelvis was raised on the bed and he held onto her hips. The first thrust made him whimper and he flipped her over, eyes devouring his cock disappearing between her rounded buttocks. The sight alone was almost enough to send him sprawling over her, complete and sated, but he couldn’t – not yet – he had to – oh _fuck_ –

Hermione was wonderfully responsive; she was vocal and her hands never stilled. She clutched him to her, dug her nails into his skin. She used them to anchor her weight as she met each thrust, and as he filled her, stretched her so deliciously, she told him just how unique he was, how she had never known or even understood such pleasure.

Severus could only provide his complete agreement in hoarse shouts, though he would reflect on it in years to come, in awe of just how fucking fortunate he was to be with her.

It was sublime; like nothing he had ever felt before.

He managed to concentrate enough to slide his hands down the front of her body, leaving one to stroke her breasts and the other to press down on her nub until he was touching her with sure, rolling strokes. It was only when she moaned and he _felt_ her channel pulsing around him that he lost it.

His vocabulary was limited to babbled words of love and crude oaths, but he needed to _see_ her – just for this first time.

“Turn around, turn around,” Severus implored her breathlessly, moaning when she quickly did so and smiled so beatifically up at him.

It pushed him over the edge.

His base urge was to throw his head back and pound into her depths, chase his orgasm until it exploded within him.

But he couldn’t.

Somehow he gathered his wits enough to kiss her as he rocked his hips back and forth. The movements were slow, sensual, and Hermione’s soft mewling cries pushed him faster and faster and then –

His release, when it came, was enough to rid him of sight. It was forceful; tender; marvellous.

It was exquisite.

_She is exquisite._  
.  
.

Severus woke to a warm room and a bed that seemed too large when it was only him stretched languidly across it. She was nowhere to be seen but there was a torn off scrap of parchment hovering above his nose:

_‘Gone scavenging for sustenance.’_

He chuckled; quietly at first, then with a gusto that sent the small bit of belly that he had shaking.

“Bloody brilliant,” he mused into the air, extending all four of his limbs with a sated groan. His joints popped – he wasn’t a young wizard anymore – but for once he was pleased with the sound. After making sure he really was alone, he reached down and patted his penis before allowing a smug and entirely male grin to spread over his lips.

Eventually he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He looked around, intent on finding his pants from wherever they’d been sent when the minx vanished them, but instead he found himself climbing out of bed and advancing on a little folded up piece of parchment that seemed to have fallen down onto the floor.

With a low grunt, he bent down and grabbed it off of the floor, turning it over in his palm. Puzzled, he unfolded it and stared at the long, numbered list until he let out a long, defeated sigh. It wasn’t meant for him, that was obvious, but he read each scrawled word all the same.

“Well, his changes everything,” he mumbled, and sank down onto the bed and waited for the author of the list to return.

.  
.

Hermione’s face fell when she returned, a well-stocked tray bobbing along in the air behind her.

“You found it.”

Severus held up the piece of paper and waved it in the air. “Yes.”

“But you’re still here,” she said slowly, pressing her lips together nervously as she walked towards him.

The door closed with a quiet click. Severus was sitting upright on the bed, his back leaning against the headboard. He studied her as she came closer, noting the apprehensive way she was eyeing the list that he’d let fall to his lap.

“Yes,” he answered simply when she came to a standstill beside him. “Perhaps you would like to explain…?”

The younger witch shifted her weight on her feet anxiously, causing her hips to roll in a way that pleasantly distracted him until he turned his attention back to her face when she sat on the edge of the mattress. The air still smelt of sex; it seemed impossible that he had woken so satisfied, so content, and yet now sat feeling the residue of what was surely an ice bucket that’d been tipped over his head. The emotion intensified further every time he glanced at her face, which was so painted with unease that it was like the rug had been pulled out from under him.

“You’re nervous,” he muttered. “Why? From the wording of some of these, I had assumed that you… Never mind. Do you wish for me to leave?” He began to look again for something to cover his body with, uncomfortable now with how the blanket left his chest bare.

Hermione was silent for a long while, and Severus finally raised his head to look her in the eyes. The hesitant way with which she was staring at him was familiar; it evoked the tenderness that he had carried within his own heart for her, for what felt like a very long time.

“Hermione,” he said quietly, carefully. “If this isn’t what you want… If I’m not –“ He broke off, running his hand over his mouth.

And then he decided that there was no reason for him to be so bloody hesitant. She’d come to _him_ , after all. Yes, she hadn’t said anything for at least five full minutes, but he wasn’t a teenager anymore. He was in love with her, for Merlin’s sake, and he wasn’t about to give up such a thing. Not when it came in such a glorious, wonderful package.

“Say something,” he demanded initially, and then scowled. “Hermione – speak! Don’t hide from me now, woman. If you think that you can allow what occurred between us,” he gestured between them with a jerk of his hand, “to suddenly mean nothing, then you haven’t taken something vital into account.”

“Oh?” she breathed, leaning closer to him with a trembling lower lip. “If you’ve read all of that and there’s something that I haven’t thought of, _tell me._ Please!”

He dragged the silence on between them until she crawled over and situated herself on his lap, her warm hands cupping his cheeks. She let out a long breath and picked up the list, eyeing it quickly then tossing it onto the bed without another glance. “Tell me, Severus.” The light of her almost burned him, and by all the gods he wanted it to.

“This list,” he told her, “is a load of bollocks.” Her crushed whimper only gave him more determination, and he placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s all of your wishes, yes, and all of your desires, and I’d be lying I said that I wasn’t proud of you for crossing off so many things already. You’re marvellous, Hermione, but you’re a bit thick, love,” he purred, grabbing the list and ignoring her little gurgle of laughter.

The paper was full of neat, numbered items in different coloured biro pens. At least three quarters of it had been struck out with little comments attached with dates that she’d completed each one; the swelling of joy in his chest only increased each time he saw each giddy little strike that denoted success.

“I mean, look at this: _‘Be brave before I crumble – divorce Ron. I don’t need permission! And I did it! 20/03/2011.’”_ Severus looked up at his witch, who had tilted her head as she waited for the rest of what he had to say. “You were always so very brave,” he whispered. “You _are_.”

“Yes,” she agreed, smiling like a cat. “Yes, I am.”

“And this?” he continued, scanning the page. There was obviously some spell that had been cast on the paper itself – it was already a number of years old, given the heading of November, 2012. “ _’Use my savings for once! Treat myself – give myself something that I know I deserve.’_ And you did, love, my lioness. Look: _‘15/01/2012 – a holiday cottage in Ireland – YES!’”_

Severus grinned easily. “You achieved all of these things,” he explained, “but these last notes…” Hermione shied away instantly, averting her gaze as if she was waiting for his chastisement. He simply could not allow such thoughts to continue – reaching out, he gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and drew her eyes back to him.

“I want it all, Hermione,” he murmured, his black eyes searching hers. “Every single thing on here – I want it all with _you. I love you,_ Hermione.”

The happiness in her face was unmistakeable, and she covered her face, only to rip her own hands away and stare at him cheeks covered in tears of joy. The last thing he heard before he had an armful of laughing, sobbing witch was enough to make him welcome her with a passion he had never before shown to a woman: “Oh, Severus – at _last!_ That you should love me at last! I love you, I love you, I love you – God, I’ve loved you secretly, desperately, openly… and now, to hear you say it in return…”

Severus tightened his grip on her, their noses touching as he spoke the words again, his lips moving against hers in a kiss even before he could complete the heartfelt declaration, “I _do,_ Hermione – I love you.”

He had never been happier.

.  
.

_The to-do list of Hermione Weasley. Hermione Granger. **Hermione Granger-Snape!!!**_

_Be brave before I crumble – divorce Ron! I don’t need permission!_ And I did it! 20/03/2011.  
Get all of my things out of the house. Enough is enough. See above!!  
Have a holiday, get sunburnt, eat all of the ice cream I want to celebrate. This is of course providing I can get enough balls to sort out number 1. Balls acquired!! Guess who went to Spain? 20/07/2011! And finally – a Christmas without a screaming hoard of Weasleys!  
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_9\. Sudden influx of balls from Professor Snape – god, that man could inspire anyone. Number 9 shall therefore be to make sure I send him a present for Christmas and his birthday, no matter how much he glowers. Gave him a scarf for Chrissie this year – looked at me as if I’d birthed a third year and Polyjuiced it to look like myself, but I’ve seen him wearing it! 28/12/2011._

_10\. Treat myself – give myself something that I know I deserve._ 15/01/2012 – a holiday cottage in Ireland – YES!  
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_17\. Is it too soon to be interested in someone?_

_18\. See a Muggle therapist re above. Want to be independent and in command of my own destiny. Also want to sound less like a self-help book. 08/03/2012 – Dr. Sylvia says it’s normal. Apparently I’m healing. We-elllll, let me at him! Jesus, he’ll probably hex me…_

_19\. Make up a new charm for this list – can’t imagine the havoc it would wreak if the students were to see these. Christ, I can just see it now – “Professor Granger, look, number 16 is to discover the mystery man who gave you such a titillating dream last night!” Christ. No, thank you._  
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_30\. Stop making lists._

_31\. Bugger it, this is my only list and it is my new year’s resolution that I shall continue to work on this for as long as I see fit._

_32\. Exercise more._

_33\. Ask Severus for a coffee if my heart doesn’t stop beforehand._

_34\. Learn how to become an Animagus. Must conquer the impossible. Bloody haughty Headmistress – it’s not my fault I don’t have whiskers and hence cannot ‘get in touch with my animal side’!_ 12/05/2015! I DID it!! Take that, Headmistress! And I bagged the man at the same time! Ha!   
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_42\. Confess my love to Severus. Oh god – 12/05/2015, I did it!!!! And he loves me! Severus Snape loves ME. I pity all women everywhere – or I would, if only a certain someone would let me out of bed! Ha! _

_43\. Figure out why my Patronus is now a lynx. Achieved on 12/05/2015… see above!!!! _

_44\. Tell Molly to get over it – we’re never getting back together! Apparently seeing Severus and I together was enough for that shite to stop. Must investigate more benefits of seeing a certain yummy DADA Professor… 23/06/2015 _

_45\. Take piano lessons._

_46\. Learn to tango. Preferably with Severus Snape. Yum._

_47\. Renovate the holiday house – add a bedroom or two?_

_48\. Write a book. Don’t ask me on what, haven’t a bloody clue._

_49\. Marry a man that I love with all of my heart, not just because it seems like the ‘logical’ decision. He asked me! He asked me! He asked ME! 17/10/2015 _

_50\. I want children… If only entry 42 could come to fruition… in my dreams._

_51\. Eat more fruit and vegetables (how is this all the way down here???)_

_52\. Re above ^ get my priorities in order for a new, healthy Hermione!_  
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_103\. Take Severus to meet my parents._

_104\. Get him in some leather pants re number 46._ Still trying. Last unsuccessful attempt 08/09/2015.   
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_116\. Fob off mum and Ginny’s overbearing attempts at trying to plan my own bloody wedding!_ Eloped to Gretna Green with Mum, Dad and Minerva! 20/11/2015!   
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_123\. Find a nice middle name that goes with Sophia… Grace? Serina?_ Perhaps no middle name? As of 31/12/2015, Severus is thinking no middle name, just like him. Initials will be S.G.S. Must show him how to ‘google’ so he can see if SGS means anything these days. Pays to check these things. But what if it’s a boy?   
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_129\. And above all: pinch myself. This must be a dream._  
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The End


End file.
